


counting bodies like sheep

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brainwashing, M/M, Manipulation, Mark of Cain, this is bad shit ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:42:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8695063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It stands in front of him, silent, waiting, face expressionless. He tells himself that it’s not Dean, no matter how much it looks like him, no matter how much he wants to believe it. Dean is gone. Castiel feels the bite of gravel on his knees, feels the creature’s stare on his neck, and it’s all he can do to bite back the sobs welling up in his throat. That’s not the man he’s fought for, that’s not the man he gave his Grace for. That’s not the man he loves. “Dean.” he whimpers. “Dean, please, tell me you’re still in there. Please, Dean.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> this has an irresponsible amount of purple prose, but since the Supernatural fandom is always thirsty for Destiel-related scraps, i figured i might as well make a contribution
> 
> the title is from here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=giaZnIr-faM

It stands in front of him, silent, waiting, face expressionless. He tells himself that it’s not Dean, no matter how much it looks like him, no matter how much he wants to believe it. Dean is gone.

Dean is gone.

Dean, _his Dean_ , is gone.

No. No, no no. It can’t be. Impossible. _Inconceivable_.

Because if Dean is dead, if the Leviathans have won, that means that he, Castiel, has failed. Come hell or high water, he has _never_ failed that man. His father, his siblings---compared to Winchester, they’re _nothing_. The world, the universe, all of Creation means nothing without Dean.

Castiel feels the bite of gravel on his knees, feels the creature’s stare on his neck, and it’s all he can do to bite back the sobs welling up in his throat. That’s not the man he’s fought for, that’s not the man he gave his Grace for. That’s not the man he loves. “Dean.” he whimpers. “Dean, please, tell me you’re still in there. Please, Dean.”

Nothing.

“Please, God…”

The thing chuckles. “God is dead.”

Something is broken; something is breaking. Castiel can no longer contain his tears, pounding his fists into the ground and screaming at the top of his lungs. His is the scream of the lost, the broken, the vengeful, the grieving---the wails intermix with weeping as he cries, cries for the love he has lost, cries for the promises he has broken, cries for those who lay dead by his hand.

He looks up, up into those empty, lifeless eyes, and he trembles.

“Dean, please, say something, show me you’re still there, Dean--,” (here he stops to take a breath as the sobs clog his throat) “--Dean, Dean Winchester, Not Moose, please, anything, I’ll take anything, I’ll do anything, just say something---”(he doesn’t know what to do, he can’t give up, he can’t, he won’t)”--tell me anything, tell me you hate me, tell me you want me dead, tell me you never want to see me again, tell me I make you sick but please, please don’t tell me you’re gone. I can’t live without you, Dean, I can’t---" (he struggles to form the words) "--I luh--I luh--- _hurk_ \--I luv-- _ghrk_ \--I love you, I do, I always have, please, Dean." and he starts bawling uncontrollably, incoherently.

"Cas?" He hears a flicker of recognition in the voice, his heart leaping as the darkness clears from the hunter's eyes. Green irises, bright, piercing, _gorgeous_.

 _Please_ , he thinks, _please let him be real and not just a trick_ \--

"Dean?" he whispers, voice hoarse from exertion. He crawls towards the other man, trench coat dragging behind him. Slowly, stiffly, he makes his way to his feet, cups Dean's face with his calloused fingers. Castiel leans in until he's nose to nose with the Winchester, studies his features like they’re  a map of stars.

Pretty eyes, kiss-bruised lips, dark stubble overshadowing his jawline, fair skin weathered by scars and smile lines; the man is beautiful. But is it truly Dean, _his_ Dean?

"Dean, dove, please just say something."

“Oh, Cas…” Dean sighs, adoration clear in his tone. His hands rub circles over the angel’s back, a warm and comforting weight, though Castiel can’t quite remember when he fell into the hunter’s arms. In fact, he can’t quite remember much at all. Dean was… something about the Mark of Cain… but Castiel saved him, yes, he saved him, like he always does… and then he was so worried, so afraid that--that something--something took Dean, _his_ Dean.

_His Dean?_

There’s a familiar ring to those two words; he feels something trying to surface, something he’s missing, something… something important. It’s like something’s gone, something he should know. What was it? He doesn’t know, but he should know.

 _He should know_.

So he tries desperately to remember what was lost, focusing his brainpower on recalling the memory from the depths of his mind. Fuzzy images fill his head, colors shifting in and out of his vision as the edges begin to sharpen into something recognizable. He’s almost there, he’s almost got it--and then Dean’s (“ _is it dean?” his mind asks groggily_ ) mouth meets his and he loses himself in the taste of the other man’s lips. They have a sharp, coppery flavor that takes him by surprise; he certainly wouldn’t have imagined them that way.

“Shhh, shhh, angel,” the hunter ( _demon?_ ) croons, breath hot and heavy against his skin. “It’s all right now, you fixed it--” (and he surges forwards and captures Castiel in a passionate kiss)

It takes all of his willpower to pull back, if even for a few moments, voice coming out as a breathy moan.

“But… the Mark…?” ( _and the fog begins to clear_ ) “You were… possessed… You killed… I could’ve sworn…”

Dean kisses harder this time, almost like he’s trying to scrub something clean, and Castiel succumbs to the pleasant haze, hands dropping to his sides as he lets Dean ( _Not Moose, not Dean_ ) dominate him, his worries whisked away by the familiar heat.  He feels the other man’s lips twist into a slick smile, but he thinks nothing of it, because this is his beautiful, perfect Dean ( _his mind is shrieking at him but he doesn’t care anymore_ ) who would never trick him, never betray him ( _yet he has_ ) and everything is as it was meant to be.

Dean’s ( _the monster’s_ ) voice is the only thing he can hear, soft and reassuring, with some hidden tone of triumph to it. “Forget about it, Cas. Just love me now.”

**Author's Note:**

> i should also mention to you all that i have never actually watched supernatural  
> sorry


End file.
